


A Friend and Father

by Lauralot



Series: Alexander Pierce should have died slower [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Play, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Sexual Age Play, Self-Hatred, Vomiting, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Insight fails, the Winter Soldier returns home.</p><p>He finds the one constant in his life missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Friend and Father

  
**You were once my one companion**  
**You were all that mattered**  
**You were once a friend and father**  
**Then my world was shattered**  
— “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again,” _The Phantom of the Opera_  


  


_Dear Uncle Bucky,_ the email begins. _Toothless says hi._

Bucky smiles. Bucky Bear’s sitting on his lap. The bear doesn’t trust Freddie’s dragon—or any stuffed animal outside of the tower, really—but Bucky takes his paw and guides him to give a little wave anyway.

_We’re not at school today or for the rest of the week because I got suspended for hitting Jayden Holoway._

The smile fades from Bucky’s face. Emily Michelle’s last email had said that Freddie was doing better with her classmates. What happened?

_Jayden’s a boy in my class who’s really loud and rude and I don’t like him. Mom says I can say that at home but not at school. Yesterday was show and tell and I brought in the newspaper that said how you’re helping people who need arms and legs. Then at recess Jayden called you the Winter Soldier and said that you just went to the Avengers because HYDRA wouldn’t take you back and that’s why you didn’t go right to the Avengers after those big planes crashed. So I hit him in the face and made his nose bleed._

Bucky’s stomach sinks. What if that kid’s parents sue? What if Emily Michelle can’t afford to take the week off to watch Freddie?

_Jayden hit back so he’s not at school either. Mom says he doesn’t know what he’s talking about and he’s probably jealous that I know all the Avengers and he doesn’t._

_Mom took me and Toothless to the library this morning so I won’t be bored. There weren’t any new books about dragons and that made Toothless sad but I thought we could read about bears instead. What kind of bear is Bucky Bear? I couldn’t find books about bears with red noses._

_How are you and the bears and the Avengers? Last week Iron Man was on some show but it started after I went to bed and Mom said Iron Man was probably going to talk about inappropriate things anyway. She says that most times he’s on TV. I’m allowed to watch Captain America though._

_Mom’s helping me write to you and then we’re going to make lunch. We’re having chicken nuggets. Mom’s also having green beans but I’m not because they’re gross and Toothless only eats meat._

_Love, Freddie_

_P.S. Where were you after you got away from the bad guys? Did you get lost?_

_P.P.S. Toothless says hi to Bucky Bear too._

Bucky pushes his chair back from the computer, drawing his hands in as though he can corrupt his niece just by touching the keyboard. She got suspended for trying to defend him. What is he supposed to say to fix this? He could encourage her without meaning to, and then the next time that kid tries to argue with her, she might do it again and end up expelled.

And the hell of it is, the kid she decked is right. Bucky did want to go back. He wanted it more than anything.

*

The asset kept his right arm bent at the elbow, cradled against his abdomen. Every step jostled his shoulder, radiating pain through his back and chest, and he could not afford the distraction that excess movement of his arm would cause. The asset was distracted enough already.

Intrusive thoughts dug into his mind like splinters, as though the glass and debris on the helicarriers had forced their way through his skull. Not for the first time, his metal fingers pressed against his scalp, searching for entry wounds. As always, he found nothing.

 _I’m with you ‘til the end of the line._ The man on the helicarrier had said that. The man was the asset’s mission, but he had failed. The asset wasn’t built to fail. The asset was broken. He had to be. If he were functioning properly, he wouldn’t hear the man’s words in his mind even now, over and over again. He wouldn’t have dragged the man to shore instead of letting him drown. His heart wouldn’t be pounding and his eyes wouldn’t sting, and the helicarriers would still be up and HYDRA would save the world and they would tell him he was good, they wouldn’t hate him for being a weak, broken failure, wouldn’t tear him to scrap and—

_I’m with you ‘til the end of the line._

The asset slammed his metal forearm against his head. His ears rang, opposite shoulder ablaze from the way his body shook. His mind was silent.

The asset moved before it could grow loud once again.

Pierce’s home had a security system. The asset knew that without remembering it; the knowledge simply appeared as he needed it, the way Pierce’s address had materialized in his mind like etchings on glass when he was lost. He had to disable the security system before he went inside. Otherwise, he would draw attention to the house and his master, and Pierce would be even more angry.

It took both hands to disable the system. The asset’s right shoulder throbbed; each movement made his vision go white at the edges, and his mouth flooded with the taste of bile. It would be easier to work if he stopped to slip his arm back into joint. It would be faster. He had stolen civilian clothing, but he still didn't to want to risk being spotted.

The asset thought of the helicarriers crashing into the river. Years of planning and effort, ruined because the asset could not complete his mission.

He left his shoulder untouched.

When the asset stepped inside, he was careful to wipe his boots against the mat. He’d already left enough of a mess for Pierce to clean up.

“Sir?”

The lights were off. The asset walked into the kitchen, where he was not surrounded by so many windows.

“Sir?”

The asset’s voice shook, throat heavy with all the words he wasn’t saying. He did not say _I’m sorry, that man made me feel things and I didn’t know what to do._ He did not say _I’m malfunctioning, please fix me._

Why would his master fix him, after all he’d just ruined? The asset was useless now. Pierce would likely put him down with a bullet in his brain.

The asset shut his eyes. In his mind, he saw the man from the helicarrier. His face was bruised and bloodied, and he did not fight back.

The asset opened his eyes again. He thought he might welcome the bullet, whenever Pierce chose to provide it.

The house was empty. No lights. No sounds to indicate the presence of anyone but the asset.

Pierce must have been at whatever remained of the Triskelion, trying to salvage HYDRA’s work. He’d told the asset that they would make people free, that the asset would be so good to help save the world.

The asset knew that Pierce would never call him good again. He would never trust the asset with another task, beyond maybe pressing a gun to his own head. The asset ought to have returned to his base, where he could be disposed of quickly. It would be one less thing for his master to worry about. But the asset had to come here. Had to be sure he could see Pierce and apologize for all he’d ruined.

Another sign of malfunction. His master shouldn’t have to look at him when he’d behaved this badly.

The asset stood in the kitchen, waiting for Pierce’s return.

The sky outside grew dark. The asset stood, waiting.

*

If left untreated, a dislocated shoulder could cause permanent damage to the surrounding ligaments, nerves, and blood vessels. The asset belonged to HYDRA. It was their decision to retire or repair their faulty weapon. Even if they chose to shoot him, the asset had no right to damage himself.

When the sun rose again, the asset sat down on the floor of the kitchen, knees bent before him. Around his shins, the asset entwined the flesh fingers with the metal ones, then grit his teeth as he leaned back. His knees pushed forward, popping his arm back into the socket.

Maybe the technicians at HYDRA could repair his mind that easily. Maybe Pierce would want him again.

No. Pierce might need him now that Insight was lost. But Pierce would never want the asset. Not after he failed so miserably. No one would want him now.

The asset’s skin and hair felt grimy with dirt and debris. Maybe he should clean himself; he knew where the bathrooms were, and when Pierce arrived to punish him, he shouldn’t get his master dirty.

But what if someone else came to the house and caught him off guard? What if he was spotted and that made trouble for Pierce? The asset remembered other people in the house before. Wasn’t there a woman who cleaned? What if she showed up?

The asset waited an additional three hours before he found a shower. He did not use the one connected to Pierce’s bedroom; he didn’t deserve it.

He couldn’t say why, but the asset felt sure that the woman who cleaned wasn’t going to show up.

Once the asset had dried his hair, he decided to make himself useful. If Pierce couldn’t come home because he was busy fixing things, then the asset would take care of the house. It was helpful, and the thought didn’t fill him with the dread he felt when he considered returning to base.

But there wasn’t much for the asset to do. No one lived here except for his master, and Pierce kept things orderly. The asset couldn’t vacuum or wash windows and risk being heard or seen.

He settled on dusting.

When the asset went upstairs, one of the doors was locked. His room. The one his master set up just for him for when he was a little boy. Pierce kept it locked the rest of the time because the asset was supposed to be a secret, and there weren’t any children in the house that Pierce could claim those things belonged to.

The asset knelt down, staring through the keyhole. His hand was trembling on the doorframe.

No matter how he turned his head, he saw nothing but a wall. It was painted blue. The asset thought he remembered a bed inside, and warm clothing. He imagined how nice it would feel to lie down and wait for his daddy to come home.

The asset shook his head, forcing himself to stand. He would not look for the key. He would not permit himself that comfort. He hadn’t earned it. He wasn’t a good boy or a perfect snowflake or any of the other kind things that his master would call him. He didn’t deserve to have nice things while Pierce was out fixing his mistakes.

When the asset was through dusting, he returned to the kitchen. He drank water from a glass and carefully washed and dried it afterward, trying to hide all traces of his presence. Then he resumed standing and waiting, facing the door of the pantry.

He had waited in the pantry once. The asset couldn’t remember why; he only had the fragments of a memory, and the fragments looked too sharp to dig at. He had waited, and Pierce had opened the door and smiled. The asset smiled back. He’d probably been a child then.

He would give up his arm to see Pierce smile again.

“I will obey orders.” The asset spoke to the empty air, as though Pierce could somehow hear him. It almost seemed reasonable; he had never been to this house without his master before. And Pierce was always there when the asset malfunctioned. “I will complete my mission, if you trust me with a mission again. I will stay awake as long as you require, working to repair the damage I’ve caused.” The asset trembled, stomach heavy with longing. “Please come back and tell me what you need.”

The house remained silent.

“Please, Daddy.”

*

At dawn, the asset decided to eat.

He hadn’t earned it, and the food in this house wasn’t meant for him. Sometimes his master gave him special foods if he’d been especially good, but generally the asset was only meant to take in the nutrients that the technicians gave him.

But the asset needed to eat if he was to be of any use when Pierce returned. And there was a bowl of fruit that was starting to look too soft. Pierce was not here to eat it, and it would be a waste of his money if the food rotted.

There was a carton of milk in the refrigerator. It would expire in two days according to the date printed on its side. The asset checked the dates on every other item in the refrigerator, but the milk was the only thing at immediate risk of expiration.

The asset drank the milk straight from the carton. That would keep him from dirtying another glass. And his stomach ached when he thought of drinking a glass of milk, though he couldn’t say why. There were three apples and two bananas in the fruit bowl. The asset ate both bananas. The flesh inside the peels was bruised, but the asset believed they were still edible. He ate one apple.

His stomach began to ache again.

The asset stood at attention again, ignoring the pain. He ought to be in pain. Perhaps his body was programmed to fail if he disappeared instead of returning to his handlers. He shouldn’t have come to Pierce’s house. His master wouldn’t want to see him. He wouldn’t want to be the asset’s master anymore.

The asset lasted an hour before he ran to the nearest bathroom to vomit.

By the time the vomiting stopped, the asset could barely stand. There was sweat along his hairline, and his throat was painfully dry. He stuck his head in the sink, turning on the tap and lapping at the water. More of it ended up in his face and hair than down his throat.

He intended to return to the kitchen and fill another glass of water. But the asset had not slept in days, and now his legs were unsteady. He reached the living room and collapsed onto the couch.

The television flickered to life. The asset must have fallen onto the remote. He scrambled to retrieve it. No one could know he was here.

“—rescue workers searching for survivors among the debris—” a woman was saying. A news station.

The asset recovered the remote, aiming it at the television.

“—recovered what is believed to be the body of alleged HYDRA conspirator and Secretary of Defense Alexander Pierce—”

The asset froze, thumb hovering over the power button.

“—Pierce’s connection to HYDRA was revealed during the data leak—”

Pierce’s body. The splinters dug into the asset’s mind again. He could no longer hear the television; his ears were ringing, blood hot. Someone was breathing loudly. Rasping, short gasps that couldn’t possibly reach the lungs.

 _You were perfect, my little snowflake._ His master had said it so many times.

And now he could never say it again.

 _You’ve been so good,_ Pierce would say. _You’re so beautiful. Daddy never stops loving you._

The asset was on the floor, hands ripping at his hair. His master was _dead_ because the asset was so bad. He cried, splattering tears all over the hardwood, and crying was _bad_ , crying was manipulative, but the asset could not _stop._

He heard wailing. It must have come from the television. A strangled little boy’s voice, sobbing _Daddy, Daddy, Daddy._

*

The asset couldn’t stay at Pierce’s house.

It was a miracle that HYDRA’s enemies hadn’t already raided it. The remaining agents must have been putting up such a fight, to distract them for three whole days. They were still trying to save the world even with Pierce dead.

And the asset hid for days in his master’s home, like a frightened dog. His master _died_ because of him. He was no better than a rabid animal. And without a master, who would put the bullet between his eyes?

He could find HYDRA. But they wouldn’t want him now. No one had use for a weapon that backfired on its owner.

 _I’m with you._ The words wouldn’t leave his head. His mind felt inflamed around the splinters of memory. _I’m with you ‘til the end of the line._

“Shut up,” the asset whispered, pressing his hands against his face. He remembered more of the man now. A bridge. A name he didn’t know.

_You’re my friend._

The asset wouldn’t listen. He had listened once before and had ended up with an injured arm, a dead master, and everything HYDRA had worked for ruined. Now the asset was in a filthy alley with nowhere to go. He wouldn’t listen again.

There was a voice in the street. “—Pierce had everybody fooled—”

The asset stiffened, raising his head. A middle-aged man was walking down the sidewalk across the street, a phone pressed to his ear. Was he with HYDRA?

“—don’t know how he lived with himself,” the man said. “Lying through his teeth, betraying his country...every time a politician comes along and makes you think he’s different, then he’s really the biggest rat in the sewer, huh?”

The asset’s teeth ground together, his blood boiling.

“—how many more members that didn’t get leaked? How much of Congress is a bunch of goddamn Nazis—”

The asset charged.

The man dropped his phone, crying out when the asset slammed him against a building wall, snarling.

“Don’t talk about him that way,” the asset said through clenched teeth. “You have no idea of what he’s done.”

The man couldn’t speak because the asset’s hand was clamped around his throat. The other hand dug through his pocket, and resurfaced clutching a knife.

“I’ll cut out your tongue,” the asset said, tapping the blade against the man’s lips. “Pierce was saving the world. He’s done more than you could ever—”

Something splattered against the asset’s boots.

He knew it was urine before he even looked down, the scent striking him like a slap to the face. The man had pissed himself. And some of it was on the asset now, soiling him. _Staining_ him.

The asset felt cold. “You’re disgusting.” He shoved the man, sending him sprawling on the sidewalk. “You’re weak and pathetic and _disgusting_.”

The man stumbled to his feet and ran. He didn’t try to retrieve his phone. He was slow, and the asset could have easily caught up to him. Cut out his tongue, pulled out his insides.

But the asset was filthy. It made him dizzy to look down and see the liquid on his boots, glistening under the streetlights. He’d already been so bad without being dirty as well.

He had to find a fountain or a river. Had to scrub away the mess.

It was only later, when the asset was clean, that he realized how stupid he’d been. Anyone could have seen what he’d done. The man could have easily been a trap, set to lure him in so HYDRA’s enemies could capture him and force him to betray more of HYDRA’s secrets.

The asset would rather die. But he’d die before he let harm come to his master as well, and look how that had turned out.

He had no master now. No structure and no home. He was erratic. Useless.

Even if the asset found HYDRA again, they wouldn’t want him back.

*

At the end of the Smithsonian exhibit about the man from the bridge, there had been a plaque listing other places in DC with more information about him. One of those places was Arlington National Cemetery, and that’s where the asset was headed now.

For eight weeks, he’d gone to the Smithsonian day after day. He was careful to keep his face hidden from the surveillance cameras. None of the security or staff seemed concerned by his constant presence. Maybe they thought he was homeless and had nothing better to do.

The asset had the exhibit memorized. Every picture, every trinket. He could recite the narration that played over and over throughout the day. He was no closer to understanding.

The man from the bridge had a friend who looked like the asset, but he was alive in ways that the asset wasn’t. He could smile, and he did not seem small when he did. He was a person, not a weapon. And he fought against HYDRA.

The asset belonged to HYDRA. Pierce was his master. Pierce gave him direction. Pierce had even loved him, although the asset was not worthy of his love.

The asset wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. He could not cry. He was in public, and to do so would attract unwanted attention.

There was a memorial in Arlington National Cemetery for the man from the bridge and his friend who looked like the asset. It didn’t make sense: memorials were for the dead, and the man from the bridge was alive. The asset had ensured that when he dragged him onto the shore.

But the man’s friend must be dead. The Smithsonian said so. And maybe if the asset confirmed that, saw the memorial and tracked down a grave, then the splinters would stop digging into his mind.

The asset had learned all he could from the Smithsonian. Maybe the cemetery would dull the fragments of memories. Maybe he could move on.

The asset wasn’t sure what he would move on to.

“Bucky.”

When the asset turned his head and saw the man from the bridge, he ran. He did not stop running until he was cornered and the man from the bridge was approaching, hands out, saying things that barely registered through the asset’s panic.

He did not stop searching for an escape until the man said, “I love you.”

The asset stilled.

“You’re my best friend and I love you.”

*

_Dear Freddie._

Bucky pauses, biting his lip. Writing to a seven year old should not be this intimidating. After all, Tasha’s seven, and he talks to her all the time.

But when he talks to her, he’s five. Tasha’s the older, more responsible one then. At least hypothetically. And she always has an adult’s knowledge and experience at the back of her mind. Freddie’s not like that. She looks up to Bucky, and he’s all too aware of the possibility that the wrong words could screw her up for years to come.

_Please don’t hit anybody for saying rude things about me anymore. It’s not a good idea to hit people, even if they’re being jerks—_

Maybe Emily Michelle doesn’t want her daughter calling people jerks. Bucky deletes that and tries again.

_It’s not a good idea to hit people, even if they’re being mean. The only times it’s okay to hit are if somebody’s attacking you, or trying to hurt somebody else._

Except that Jayden probably was trying to hurt Bucky, as far as Freddie’s concerned.

 _By trying to hurt you or somebody else,_ Bucky adds, _I mean trying to hit or kick or otherwise injure you._ Except that doesn’t really cover it. _Or threatening you and refusing to let you out of the area so you can go tell an adult. Any other time, you need to either tell an adult or just walk away._

_I know you were just trying to help me, and it’s really nice that you’re thinking of me. But a lot of people think that I still like HYDRA and want to be with them, and there’s no point in arguing about it. I’m trying to help people now, and hopefully, that will get people to see that I don’t still want to be the Winter Soldier. Some people still won’t believe it, but I’m just going to have to learn to ignore them. As long as they’re not hurting people or putting lies in papers or the TV or something like that, people are allowed to think whatever they want, even if it’s wrong._

How many times has someone said that to Steve during news programs?

Bucky bites his lip. How is he supposed to confess to his niece that he did try to go right back to HYDRA? She’s going to think he’s the scum of the earth.

 _When I first left HYDRA, I didn’t remember very much,_ he types slowly. _I knew that I knew Captain America, but I didn’t know who I was or how I knew him. I was really confused and I wanted to go back home. Not home to Brooklyn, but what I thought was my home at the time. There was a man who’d been in charge of me at HYDRA, and I thought that he was something like my dad._

That’s all he’s going to say on that subject. Bucky isn’t sure how much Freddie knows about his imprisonment, but if anyone’s going to explain the darker details to her, it ought to be her mother.

 _That man died when Captain America stopped HYDRA from killing a bunch of people,_ Bucky continues. _But I didn’t know that. I went to his house and waited for him to come home to tell me what to do. I didn’t understand that HYDRA was bad yet. I didn’t know that they were mean to me. They were all I could remember, and I thought that the way they treated me was normal._

He wonders if that makes any sense. How well is Freddie going to understand Stockholm syndrome and brainwashing?

 _There’s a book I like a lot about a little bat named Stellaluna_ , he tries. _That’s also what the book is called. Stellaluna’s a fruit bat, but she got lost when she was a baby and a bird took her in. Stellaluna doesn’t know that she’s supposed to sleep hanging upside down instead of in a nest, and she doesn’t know that she’s supposed to eat fruit instead of bugs. I was like that. I didn’t know who I really was. I didn’t eat bugs, though._

Bucky figures that some levity is probably required amid all this serious talk.

_When I realized the man who was in charge of me wasn’t coming home, I left. I wanted to understand more about Captain America and why I knew him, so I started going to places in DC that talked about him. There’s a lot of places like that._

Opening another tab, Bucky pulls up the article about Steve on the Smithsonian website. He pastes the address in the email.

_That’s where Captain America found me._

_So I did try to go back to HYDRA, but it wasn’t because I hated the Avengers. I didn’t understand what the Avengers were, not really. HYDRA was the only thing that I knew, and I didn’t know that I could go other places. Thinking about leaving was really scary. If the Avengers hadn’t helped me, HYDRA probably would have found me and made me work for them again, and I wouldn’t have known any better. Now I do know, and that’s why I want to help other people like my friends helped me._

_Bucky Bear says he hopes Toothless is doing well._ Bucky Bear has said nothing of the sort, but Bucky might as well be polite on his bear’s behalf. _He’s a special kind of bear and there aren’t any other bears like him. I know that there used to be Bucky Bear comics, if you want to read about him. Maybe your library has some?_

 _All of the other bear and the Avengers are also doing well_ , he continues. _Tony’s doing another press conference tomorrow about our initiative to help amputees. He’s reading a statement that Pepper wrote for him, so maybe your mom will be okay with you watching that?_ Nothing questionable will happen before the reporters are allowed to ask things, at least.

_I hope you have a good week and that things are better when you get back to school._

_Love, Bucky_

He can always write an email to Emily Michelle later to make sure that taking the week off isn’t screwing her up financially. No reason to put that in an email to the kid and make her feel like dirt.

Bucky saves the drafted email, pushing his chair back. “Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve calls from the other room. The faint murmur of the TV grows louder as Bucky approaches the doorway.

“I wrote a letter to my little niece. Freddie? I need you to read it and make sure I’m not traumatizing the kid for life before I send it.”

“You trust me not to traumatize kids for life?” Steve asks, brow arching.

“I don’t remember any screaming children when you used to sign comic books,” Bucky says.

He doesn’t say that Steve never shoved him on the floor when he wet the bed. Steve never told Bucky that being a parent gave him a right to Bucky’s body. And he doesn’t say that Steve’s the best dad he can remember.

Those things would only make Steve sad, and besides, he knows that Bucky loves him.

At least, Bucky hopes he knows. He’s very careful to say it all the time, and especially after the day that they fought and Daddy took Bucky Bear.

“We never saw how those kids turned out when they grew up,” Daddy says, but he’s standing up as he does. “All right, I’ll take a look at it.” He pats Bucky on the shoulder as he walks by. “Do you still have it pulled up?”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky nods. “Thanks, Daddy.”

**Author's Note:**

> While it's always recommended to see a doctor to have a dislocated limb put back in place, sitting on the floor with your hands around your legs is one of [the suggested methods](http://www.howwhywhere.com/Fix-a-Dislocated-Shoulder/) if you must do it on your own.
> 
> [Stellaluna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mk8uL9o_f9w) is a picture book by Janell Cannon. I read it when I was young, but completely forgot about it until [WhatEvenAmI](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI) mentioned the book in the APSHDS spin-off series, [Beware the Killer Rabbits.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/295697)
> 
> There is not actually a Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes memorial at the Arlington National Cemetery, which is probably obvious. But I completely forgot that the Smithsonian wasn't really going to have a Captain America exhibit when I was planning my own visit to DC, so I might as well clarify.


End file.
